


Agent John

by natsumii



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Covert Operation, Drug Abuse, F/M, Government Agencies, Pardon His French, Prostitution, Rated for Violence/Drug Use/Language, Slave Trade, Superstition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsumii/pseuds/natsumii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is evil in this world. Willis would describe it as a big, baking mixing bowl; add different ingredients to each mix and the ending products are all different. Rook Island just had more spice than the others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent John

Willis Huntley did not believe in downtime, just like he stopped believing in Santa Claus that one snowy Christmas in '74 (If you want to know why it was the classic case of older siblings spilling the beans). Downtime, to him, is considered settling down with a pretty broad in a pretty white house with a little white picket fence, and why the hell not throw in a dog named generic dog name. Last time he gave downtime a chance, he took his morning coffee with a clip of divorce papers, a messy custody battle over the fucking dog (pardon his French), and not to mention one angry _ex_ -mother in law. So you see, it's not that Willis did not _believe_ in downtime. He just fucking hated it.

That's why he makes sure to stay busy. Fill every potential downtime in his life with work, even boring paperwork that comes paper-wrapped with a ribbon on top along with the job. Willis should be out with his co-workers in a bar having a good time before they set off into the unknown, but instead he's holed up in a room in a decent quality hotel you can get in the sketchier parts of Bangkok. Right now he's brushing up in his linguistics skills, though all he really needs to know is how to say 'Where is the bathroom?' in Malay, and 'Who speaks English here?'. Aside from that, he's deep web diving into files about one of the most notorious slave/drug trafficking kingpin in all Indochina: Hoyt Volker.

Hoyt Volker. Born December 20, 1967 in South Africa's biggest city and a crime rate to match, Johannesburg. Raised by daddy and mommy Volker. Seems like good honest hard working people, and with Hoyt's success, those traits got passed down the lineage, cross out the good and honest parts that is. Now Hoyt's a bigshot, but with all this fame comes some bad attraction. Complaints from families all over America put this diamond miner son full on into the spotlight, and gaining the U.S. and A's attention is something overseas criminals have nightmares over.

That's where Willis comes in. Willis Huntley, all around true natured American with a straight moral code. Well, somewhat straight. From a perspective. Long served CIA operative tasked with the mission of gathering information of our favorite cocaine addict Volker, and eventually, terminate the motherfucker (again, pardon his French). This is nothing new to him. He's seen men like Hoyt Volker, dealt with them, and once came one to one with them. It's just his job. Doesn't mean it gets any easier but he's not complaining.

It wasn't too hard finding out where Hoyt was located, tends to happen when you turn an entire fucking island into a base of operation. Though Willis and his task force he was assigned to had to do some digging in Bangkok. Get some info, 'talk' with some of the locals, bada-bing bada-boom Hoyt's exact location along with what he eats for brunch. Fun Fact, if you want to keep your illegal business a secret, _don't_ advertise it. Just don't.

From what he has gathered, the island is called Rook Island. It's separated into two isle with each their respective and most intriguing, well thought up names: South and North Islands. It gets hazy with which Island Hoyt is working on, but they'll find out when they get there which will be tomorrow. Glancing at the clock, tomorrow will be in an hour. So much for getting a good night's rest.

His eyes start to burn from a long extended period of time staring at a computer screen when he hears the door to the hotel room open. Willis doesn't need to turn and see who it is to already know who it is because the newcomer is softly singing a song in German, and he only knows one bastard who can call himself an American while wearing a tracht and eating a Schneckennudeln.

"Have a drink, my friend. You look stressed." A bottle is placed to his right, and Willis grudgingly thankful popped off the cap using one of the corners of the desk. The cool liquor burns on the way down his throat, and he gives a refreshing sigh afterwards. 

"Thanks," Willis says with no trace of gratitude in his voice. "And don't you know? Stress comes with being an American. It's an essential to stress."

"Ah ja but why stress when you can live! I read that living is the best thing you can do in your life." Sam Becker, German raised with American origins, or what he liked to personally call it, a walking paradox.

"Yeah and I hear dying is a bad thing for your health." Willis replies sardonically. "And yet people still do it. Go figure. Anyways, I'm working. I don't got time to live."

"But you got time to drink, ja?" Sam says with a twinkle in his eye. By default this man shouldn't be so characteristically upbeat with the work they do and the _things_ they see in the work they do but he is. Same can't be said for Willis, though.

"I'm a New Yorker, I always got time to drink." Sam snickers as they both take a swig. "Where are the others?"

"Still at the bar. Jolie and Yosef are at it again with the arm wrestling."

"Yeah well that means those two are drunk again and I'm not playing nurse when they wake up." Willis warns, even though he knows everyone in his squad can freshen up more than a daisy when they need to. It's called self-control. And years of training.

Willis starts closing open pages and begins the process of shutting down the computer, deciding firmly he needed to get some shut eye before the voyage into dangerous waters. He cannot determine the length of time they'll be stationed over there, but that doesn't matter. What matters is doing the mission efficiently with little to no mistakes but with an operation this big and risky there was bound to be some mistakes. He just hoped it will not be too drastic. This will be, after all, potentially his last covert mission in the field.

He's not getting transferred to becoming a desk jocky. God no he'd rather give up his favorite pair of socks than degrade himself to a mindless job like that. In all honesty, it's Sam. Yeah, the bastard he calls a friend and don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. The cold hard truth... they're getting old, and if their bones aren't creaking yet with arthritis then they soon will be. Men falter thinking of the idea of aging. Mortality so to put. When you're young you don't think about stuff like that, but it hits hard when you get older, especially with the type of work they do.

And it's not like they're working for a living. Willis can tell you the government surely supplies generously for their honorable service and yada yada yada. No, money ain't an issue when (if) they retire. And isn't that the whole point of retirement? Get rich enough to not give two shits about anything after you stop working. Just.. _enjoy_ life? Well that's not what he wants. Retirement is another way of saying one, long downtime. No, retirement isn't right for this old man, and no, he's not saying he's not 'ready yet'. And as corny as it sounds he does have so much to do left with his life. The only downtime he will be having is when lady death comes for him, and then _maybe_ he'll let her take him without a struggle.

"So what are you going to do after this is over?" Sam asks, kicking off his boots and relaxing on the bed, its hinges creaking under his weight.

"Haven't thought about it." He replies curtly, not really in the mood to talk about stuff like this.

"Vat?" Sam looks genuinely surprised by his announcement. "Of course you have. I certainly have."

"And what are _you_ going to do?" Willis doesn't know why he asked. Truly he didn't want to hear his friend's retirement plans. It'll make him feel queasier in the stomach.

Sam smiles, showing off the laughing wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. "I think I will go back home."

"Which home? You gotta be specific here. You're confusing my patriotic heart." Willis cuts in with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

"Dummkopf. Home to Germany. Maybe open up a bread bakery or something with a nice girl."

Willis can't help but laugh a little bit. Just the image of Sam, scary looking evil villain tattoo Sam working in a bakery was too absurd. "A bakery. Really? So what, you gonna use Ace as a cutting knife?"

Sam gasped, looking horrified and touched the impressively big combat knife sheathed in its holster. " _Nie!_ Never. I will use it to cut the butter!"

"I don't know how to reply to that." Willis got up and stretched, groaning as he heard and felt several pops somewhere in his body. Oooh yeah that's the stuff. Man, he's getting old. Wiping his tired face he plopped on the bed, ready to pass out. Not gradually go to sleep like a normal person but _really_ knock out. It gets easier with age.

Sam's voice brings him back from the edge. "Vat do you think of dating again."

"Are you serious?"

"Ja! As a friend I am concerned for you. You are lonely, way too lonely and I think it will be good for you to have a girl."

"Sam I haven't pursued a woman since my divorce, you know that. Anyways, the only lady in my heart is good ol'e Lady Liberty. The only woman I need that's for fucking sure." The thought of dating again, going back into the game.. it just made him cringe. He likes the thought of growing old with someone, er well, _older,_ but that's only because his parents got that sweet ending. Not for him though. He can't picture himself living his last days like that.

"I still think it is a good idea." Sam continues, "You just haven't found the right girl yet."

"I haven't been looking." Willis reminds him.

"You just need someone to.." The German pauses, trying to capture the words to describe what he wants to say. "..Someone that makes you feel young again. That is what you need."

"I really don't."

"I think you do."

Willis gives up trying to argue with his friend. Don't mistake that for him giving in. He just doesn't see a point in continuing this nonessential conversation about his love life. Sleep finally comes to him fast, thankfully quicker than Sam could even start snoring.

 

The next day the task force set sail on a boat straight towards the Rook Islands. A plane would have been preferable but due to the complicity of the mission's regulations, a boat is acquired to achieve the stealthiest procedure of smuggling loads of expensive government equipment, including six trained agents, onto an island they have no visual cartogram, relief, or contour map of. To put it simply, they're going in blinder than the American media during the Second World War.

They try to pass the boat off as a civilian fishing boat, even had the props and everything with a full net filled with groupers to back up the story. Democratically voted, they beach on the North Island first and quickly transfer their stuff as quickly as the can away from the shore and to a place less vulnerable. Because of limited time, when Jolie finds them a cave they take refuge there. It's not permanent by any means but it is a start.

Willis adopts a corner of the cave for himself and begins setting up communication networks and intelligence systems. That is his job, by the way. He used to be the recon guy, the one who _actually_ goes out into the field, but his promotion states that he gets to sit nice and comfy back in base while he tasks his teammates to go and get shit done. But hey, that's what you get for being the smart guy. Too smart for his own good.

"Alright people listen up. Jolie, Yosef my favorite star-crossed lovers. You two scout the island. Sam and Akoni will do the same. Keep the visibility to a minimum. You're observing not interacting. That's Keeler's job. Keeler you try to pass yourself off as a civilian. Gather as much information as you can but when shit hits the fan you know what to do. Report back here in three days tops." He hands each and every one of them an earpiece. "Happen to encounter any hostiles do not confront, I repeat, do not confront. But we all know that means jack shit out here so just try not to blow our cover and I'm looking at you Sam."

"That was one time!" The German barks, throwing his arms up. 

"And may I remind you that, 'one time', cost us the successful capture and apprehending of one of the most top wanted man in the entire world."

"Ah he would have gotten away anyways." Sam says dismissively. "The man was a ninja für fickt willen!"

"He is right. That Yalung was something else." Akoni commented, rolling his aching shoulder at the memory of his one on one brawl with said criminal. The Nigerian was a big man, considered the brawn in their ragtag gang, and standing at a height of 6'3 weighing in at 248 pounds, you could say he was an intimidating figure, someone who would make you think twice about picking a fight with. Yalung's height barely grazed the edge of his shoulders, and the criminal looked like he weighed half Akoni's mass and despite all that it was Akoni who got knocked out cold. 

Jolie chuckled, "Oooh yeah I remember that. He fucked you up pretty good, big guy." 

"Hey, if I remember you didn't fare any better." Akoni retorted. 

Willis let them squabble on before gaining back their attentions. "OK, OK, OK we all got fucked by Yalung and that's why we were the laughing stock of the entire CIA services for a week, not to mention we can't show our faces anymore in Abu Dhabi because of that incident with the helicopter and the towers..." 

"Ah!" Sam exclaims pointing his index finger to the air. "That is where we should vacation for our retirement party." 

Willis groaned as the rest of the group erupted in a very colloquy chatter of his and Sam's impending doom- er he means retirement.

Jolie turns to him with a wide, playful smile. She's in her late twenties, and to him that's primarily at your prime. She, Yosef, Akoni, and Keeler are all younger than him and Sam, and the reason that is was because they're the second group. They weren't the teammates he and Sam started out with. Their first dysfunctional family was gone, but that was expected. Comes with the job.

"You finally leaving the service for good old man?" She teases, and he knows she doesn't mean any harm. 

"I'm not going to confirm or deny that." There, a fail-proof response that saves him from answering that surprisingly hard question.

The expression on her face tells him that she knows something he doesn't. "You can't keep avoiding what needs to be confronted. Sooner or later it's gonna catch up to you whether you're ready or not."

That made Willis crack a smile, even if it was on the inside. Jolie sure was growing into the leader type figure. He can sense that in her. From the very first day she was assigned to his team, he could tell she was just an American citizen wanting to make the world a better place. It's a beautiful way of thinking, and he himself cannot deny he once shared those glamorous ideals but somewhere along the way he realized making the world a better place was not so easy, and things were a hell of a lot more complicated than that. 

The world is a labyrinthine. It humbled him. It teared down what he thought was good and wrong and made him realize not everything was black and white like he believed when he was younger. It made him face the insignificant purpose of his existence in the big, wide universe. Frankly, the world is one fucked up place. Pardon his French. And it's his job to make it a tad bit better.

"Alright enough talk, let's get to work shall we?" He announces clapping his hands. The group packed essentials and began to leave the cave. "Have fun kids." He called after them. "I'll see you in three days." 

On the outside, he sounded not the least bit worried. He knew these guys were trained operatives. They knew the drill, and they're good at what they do. If they were not then they wouldn't have been assigned to him. But he can't help but feel, well, worried. Concerned. This is his second team, and he isn't going to fail them this time. He feels responsible for them, and he knows Sam feels the same way. They made a silent pact to keep their new squad safe, even though they fully know that's beyond their control.

In this job you don't form attachments. Guess he failed even that.

 

Exactly three days later Willis collects all the information he receives from the recon mission and process it all into organized tabs. First, and the most important thing he learns is that Rook Island is indeed Hoyt's personal playground for his manufacturing business. Second, and as equally as important as the first, Hoyt resides in a compound located somewhere on the South Island. That island is Hoyt's island.

Now here's where it gets interesting.

The North Island belongs to a man named Vaas Montenegro, presumably Hoyt's second in command. He runs  _this_ island, but Hoyt owns him, and if Hoyt owns Vaas then Hoyt owns the North Island. Anyways, moving on Vaas Montenegro is no stranger in CIA files. Leader of a large gang of pirates who have been reported terrorizing places all over Indochina. Really 17th century shit.

From Keeler's time as a civilian, they learn that there are native residents called the Rakyat who are at war with Vaas' pirates. It's a shame, but neither Hoyt nor the rest of his squad were going to do anything about that. It's not their mission. Hoyt Volker is the target, and that is their only focus. It's not that Willis doesn't feel empathy for the Rakyat, but orders are orders. It is simply not their business to take care of. 

Come the following weeks they relocate to an abandoned military bunker. The food rations they brought were gradually running out so they had to, how do you say it? Live off the land. Thankfully Rook Island had an almost surplus in wild animal livestock. The entire land was one big animal reserve, and he could imagine wildlife sanctuary corporations having a field day protecting the land from capitalists and tourists. The papers on that legal case would be uncountable.

That's why he doesn't feel too bad eating cooked meat from a tiger's leg. The tiger was an asshole anyways, going off and attacking Yosef. Stupid animal should know never to tackle a Russian. They're tougher than bullets.

Tonight's dinner around the fire is unusually quiet. Somber. Even Sam is uncharacteristically in a down mood. It comes to a point where Willis can't take it anymore.

"OK. What the fuck is everyone's problem?" Simple, direct. You shall ask, you shall receive. 

Nobody answers at first, and whatever is troubling their minds it seems they all share the same thing. Willis wasn't on the same wave length as the rest. 

"It's the island." Akoni speaks up, his eyes trained on the floor. "It feels... unnatural."

"They do say the island is cursed." Keeler pipes up from where he sat peeling a mango delicately with a knife. "The people, and the natives."

"Paranoid superstition. Ain't real, just a load of bullshit." Willis quickly dismisses. He's not one to believe in curses or ghosts or any type of folklore. That crap just generates more hysteria among an already very frail state of living for the people on this island. It's the flesh and blood you have to worry about here. 

"You don't understand." Akoni says shaking his head. "You're not the one going out there. Into the jungle. I can't be the only one who has felt this?" He looks around the circle, and everyone except Willis had their heads bowed, their silence an unspoken agreement. Willis takes notice of this, too.

"Pardon my French everybody but cut the bullcrap." Was he crude? Yes. Was it necessary? Double yes. "Now you're right. I'm not the one out there, but I also know when someone is over stressing and I'd like to remind all of you that this isn't the first time you have experienced an extended mission period. Keep your heads cool, focus on the mission, and we'll be on a boat back to modern civilization in no time. Got it?" 

"Got it, sir." Jolie replies. She's trying to look tough, but he could see the look in her eyes. Something has her shaken. Something has everyone, including Sam, anxious. Restless. 

Yosef sits straighter on the plastic chair. "Well I don't know about you guys but I don't feel any different."

"Of course you don't. You're too thick-headed." Jolie laughs and the tension in the group seemed to dissipate, replaced with a relaxed atmosphere. The rest of their meal is spent with jokes and laughter, and when dinner is done everyone slinks off to their beds, minus Jolie and Yosef who so 'mysteriously' disappear, a bottle of champagne from storage vanishing along with them. 

Willis doesn't go to bed like the rest. Instead he's standing outside gazing at the distant form of the South Island. Hoyt's island. Weeks have passed already and they were not one step closer to getting to Hoyt nor did they have any solid intel on what he's doing. How he works. 

"We need to find a way onto that island." He says out loud when he senses a familiar presence behind him. 

Sam stands beside him, crossing his tatted up arms over his chest. "Ja. That would be very hard don't you think?" 

"Rome wasn't built in a day. Eventually Hoyt's going to slip up, and when that happens we'll be there. I just wish we had someone on the inside. We're pulling blanks out here." 

"Don't lose all hope my friend. I believe lady luck will shine her light down on us soon." Sam comforts him by placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring shake. 

Willis snorts, "Lady luck. Now that's something I can believe in."

"Ah yes.. about that." Sam retracts his hand to smooth it over his bald head. "I think you were a bit too harsh on them. It is... very strange here." 

"Oh not you, too. Don't tell me you believe in that crap. It's just nonsense." 

Sam remains quiet, a thoughtful look on his face. "I don't know. The island, it is beautiful but there is also something to it. An evil in the sands."

"You sound crazy, you know that?" Willis says, "And evil is everywhere. It's a product of humanity. You don't see animals killing each other out of pure spite."

"So is it better to be a human or an animal?" 

"Human." He answers honestly. "At least we're at the top of the food chain. It's the only thing we're _really_  good at."

Sam puckered his lips, "Well I would chose human because we can love like no other, and to experience that kind of love, it is a blessing." 

"Never took you for such a sap, Sam. Bleh, all this warm gooey feeling is making me sick. I'm hitting the sack." 

"Gute Nacht!" Sam calls over his shoulder. 

"English you bastard, English!" Willis replies with a chuckle.

 

He sends the whole team out on a recon mission to the Southern Island. It's a risky move on his part, but they need progress. Something. Anything. 

Days and weeks went by. No one returned. They're gone. The jungle took them. 

A month and a half passed. He's keeping track because there's this subtle fear that if he loses track of time, reality would start to slip away. He never realized it, but being surrounded by people like him, his teammates, they made him feel.. grounded. Sane. 

Their absence takes a great toll on him. He tries to stay level-headed. Follow his own advice and focus on the mission but... sometimes. Sometimes... 

His teammates reminded him of a place where civilization is modern with rules and standards and morals. Now they're gone and he's suddenly aware how  _free_ this island is. 

He feels himself slipping somewhere but he snaps out of it because he is Willis Huntley. Focused, dedicated patriotic son of a bitch Willis Huntley and he's not going to let the jungle take him! No, not him! 

He's still got a mission to do, goddammit!

The jungle is downtime... and what better way to combat downtime than with keeping busy.


End file.
